


(s)he's only here for one thing, but so am i

by lavenderss



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: AU - Samuel is rich and Marina is alive, Angst, Cheating, F/M, Forbidden Love, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderss/pseuds/lavenderss
Summary: "I love you," he says.Oh no,Carla thinks.Oh no."Samuel." It was meant to sound disconnected from the situation. Barky, even. Instead, it came out tender. "You know that's not an option."OR: Carla and Samuel are both in very unfulfilling relationships. Nothing a few forbidden fucks couldn't fix. (Of course, it doesn't work that way.)
Relationships: Carla Rosón Caleruega/Samuel García Domínguez
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	1. lo que no me dices

**Author's Note:**

> this is an au! basically, samuel and nano's family is rich. their father is in the picture. samuel is dating marina (similar situation as s1 carla/polo - mostly because of their families). the chapters are kind of one-shotty but it's all in the same au and i don't wanna clog the tag and they're fairly short, so there you go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a the club scene in 2x02 in an AU. this is the longest chapter and i wrote it a long time ago, don't judge pls. i didn't even like it then and i sure as hell don't like it now, but it's a good intro to the situation. the next ones are better imo.  
> ( _lo que no me dices_ by kimberely tell was used in the s2 soundtrack)

Samuel's father has always made sure that he ends up with the right woman.

Within his class, he belongs in the unfortunate half: the half of people with parents who haven't dropped their archaic values. It makes Samuel feel like he's living in a world that is split in two – one that exists in the present, with hookups at dance floors; and one that is stuck in the eighteenth century, and everybody is legally _binded_ to someone. Most of Samuel's friends are in the same position, of course, stuck in the latter half, with obsolete arranged relationships that actually have contracts _shielding_ them from an intruder invasion.

Carla was the first one to rebel. In all honesty, she was probably the last person that came in mind when he thought of the distant possibility of someone going against their parents' will. He thought it would be Guzmán – so fed-up with Lu that he doesn't even bother to act nice to her anymore, or wait for her to leave to room before he starts complaining about her obnoxiously loud voice, exaggerated gestures and pathetic need to touch him all the time. 

Samuel usually chuckles and tells him something about knowing what he's talking about, but in reality, he doesn't have a clue. Marina Nunier – his best friend's sister and most likely his future wife _at once_ , because that is how things go around here – is definitely not overly touchy, and really, he doesn't have much to complain about. Sometimes, he would actually like to get more affection from her – she seems as if she's not even _there_ when they talk together, and that is why Samuel has also thought about the possibility of his girlfriend going against the strictly-lined order of marriage agreements and relationship _schedules_ – yes, they have one. 

They're supposed to get engaged during their last year of college, and get married shortly after. Samuel thinks it is set that way so that that they'll have time to commit some small-scale college infidelity, the both of them, so that everything will be easy to forgive and they can go back to their outlined destinies after a bit of _wilding out_. Anyways, with Marina looking so largely disinterested absolutely every time their parets delve into the subject of _them_ , it is easy for Samuel to push the agreement and a distant possibility of marriage out of his head. Perhaps they won't even make it anyway – or they will. It's a fifty-fifty chance.

But Marina, with her head in the clouds and her flat _I love you_ 's, hasn't broken up with Samuel, just like Guzmán hasn't broken up with Lu, even though he doesn't tell her he loves her at all. Out of all of them, it was _Carla_ – Carla, who seemed to have the best deal, having a boyfriend who actually loved, or still _loves_ her – Carla, who broke Polo's heart by getting together with a scholarship student a week after the breakup, one that shouldn't even be there at all, to make matters worse. A blunt and loud and obnoxious Christian.

Of course they didn't last. They broke up after the holidays, which Samuel had spent on vacation with Marina and Lu and Guzmán, a desperately boring one. But Carla and Polo haven't gotten back together since then, and Carla is freely roaming through the halls of Las Encinas, with her characteristic smirk on her face, and Samuel is stuck with a girlfriend that doesn't seem to really care for him at all, except in that we've-known-each-other-since-birth kind of way.

Samuel, for one, is sure that he loves her, because she's been his girlfriend for two and a half years, and friend for sixteen, and all of his life is centered around her. Her brother is his best friend; her father is his godfather; her brother's other best friend is another close friend of his - basically all of their friends are shared. Polo and Samuel have one thing in common – in a room filled by Guzmán's voice and Lu's, Marina's and Carla's giggles in response to his not particularly funny jokes, Polo and Samuel are quiet. It seems that whatever their friends decide, Samuel and Polo are just dragged along. They exchange sympathetic glances and then return to their girlfriends' sides.

Or, they would, until Carla broke the system. It was most likely bound to collapse – it has been shaky for months now, their little world in its predetermined orbit, with Guzmán snapping at Lu pretty much no matter what she says and preferring to talk to that other scholarship girl, Nadia; with Marina not even _hearing_ Samuel's proposals for dates; with Carla's blatant flirting with Christian. Samuel had tried to ask Polo why he was allowing it, but he only got comical, somewhat avoiding answers, and Samuel had enough problems with his brother, the black sheep of the family, returning to town.

Fernando García Dominguez is a hurricane, and college in the United Kingdom seems to have had the exact opposite effect on him from what their parents wished for. His month-long presence at the end of the previous school year, at the same time when Carla decided not to be a puppet in her parents' staged romance show, Samuel had too much trouble trying to calm Nano down as to prevent hell breaking lose at home ( _Drugs? Failing a class in his already poorly chosen field of study, photography? Going on a backpacking trip to Thailand? Participating in a protest-turned-violent and having spent a night in a cell? Nano!_ ) and being a mediator between his rebellious older brother and their concerned, rightfully to a certain extent, parents – well, Samuel didn't exactly have time to intrique why Polo hadn't put a stop to Carla's flirting before it got this far, or confront Carla with his anger at her for breaking up with Polo and ruining _absolutely everything_.

Because really, she did. The new school year came, and nothing is the same – Polo and Samuel barely talk, as do Carla and Lu, Guzmán is extremely pissed at Carla _and_ Marina for some reason, and Samuel, for whom the redhead, who is supposed to be his girlfriend, rarely spares a word, let alone a casual affection, finds it hard not to join him in his anger. The last time they'd slept together with Marina was almost month ago, the last day of their yacht vacation, and her eyes seem sullen and blank every time he tries to ask her to hang out, with a reassurring stroke over her hand. "I can't, I'm busy. Something with my dad. Dance practice. Plans with Carla." 

No wonder Samuel is growing rightfully irritated, but he doesn't snap, still not. He is _worried_ about her – she is pale, the bags under her eyes are tragically prominent in their violet color almost with a gradiental change to pure black – and when she walks around the school, with her binder in her hands, she just seems like a hollow shell, a ghost, and not the lively and I-won't-take-your-shit Marina that he used to know. He doesn't really realize, until one night when he's alone in his room and the tension within him starts to become unbearable – that Marina hasn't been that version of herself in a long time. That maybe _this_ is the new permanent version of her, ghastly and out of it. One that doesn't tell him a word about what is happening to her. He doesn't like the prospect at all.

Samuel decides to call her, but his phone beeps hopelessly in his dimly lit room – the sun has started to set, but he hasn't turmed on his lights yet – and he exhales heavily in capitulation, with a resolute tap of his thumb on the screen of his iPhone. He didn't really expect anything else, but still. His heart churns and turns over as he stops trying to reach her, as if something clicked in him and he realized that his relationship is practically nonexistent. So, Samuel, in a surge of regnant anger, puts on a denim jacket and leaves to go to a bar.

He has never gone to a bar alone. It has always been with his friends, in a group, when they were celebrating, dancing and laughing. Kissing their girlfriends hungrily after they'd gotten a bit drunk and their bodies sliding over each other on the dance floor created _desires_. One time, after a particularly wild night, Guzmán confessed to him that him and Lu had disappeared so suddenly to _do it_ in a bathroom of the club, and Samuel was left with a stupid lust. An unfulfillable one, definitely – mentioning the affair to Marina only got him an eyebrow lifted up high to the sky and a sarcastic remark at Lu's interpretation of keeping up her high class that she so highly values.

The worst thing about the whole _thing_ is that Samuel and Marina meet in opinions on lots of things – their parents' snobbiness, or the overall ludicrous pomposity of their gold-covered world, mostly. Of course, Marina is more vocal than him, but they still agree. That is likely the most important reason why Samuel hasn't broken up with her, despite the fact that they rarely even talk together as a couple at this point – he can't imagine finding himself a more compatible partner in the future, one that his parents would allow him to marry _and_ that wouldn't drive him completely insane with the level of her pretentiousness. Samuel only imagines himself getting married to someone of Lucrecia's sort, and a wave of cold sweat comes over him.

But the moment he steps inside the bar, the part of his brain that has been bearing that fact in mind for the past year, and reminding him intensively over the past month, when things have gotten even worse with the distant Marina, seems to break. Samuel walks straight to the bar in resolute, firm steps, orders himself a whisky cola, because he's not with the others and doesn't have to seem cool by gulping the fiery alcohol on its own, and settles on a bar stool.

"Someone's having a bad day, huh?" he hears behind himself.

He turns around to make sure it really is who he thinks it is, even though the well-known voice shouldn't have left him hesitant. But it's so unthinkable for him to imagine Carla drinking alone at a bar on a school night. Somehow, she is just utterly inappropriate in this setting. Carla belongs to high-class dinner parties.

But of course it is her. Her green eyes narrow at him and her lip curls up playfully, when she sees the badly concealed surprise in his face. Instead of pointing out that he probably shouldn't be there either, with the both of them having a math test tomorrow, she sips from her own glass – pure whisky, _damn it_ , Samuel knows she's noticed his choice of drink and compared it to hers, Carla does that, she _notices_ – and lifts her chin suggestively after putting it down. "Drink?"

Samuel ignores the malicious smirk on her face when he quickly turns his glass bottom up into his throat, so that he can ask for a refill of whisky without cola and spare himself at least a part of the embarrassment, and asks, extremely stupidly: "What are you doing here?"

Instead of dodging his question and throwing it straight back at him, or laughing at the cough in the middle of his sentence that escaped his throat upon downing his _diluted_ drink, Carla pensievely slides her fingers over the edge of her crystal glass, and responds: "Drinking away my broken heart."

Samuel's eyebrows fly up a mile high, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out: "Weren't you the one to break up with Christian?"

"I'm not talking about Christian," Carla scoffs, as if it was the most obvious information in the world, as if Christian wasn't the boy that she'd recently broken up with and thus the logical choice, and diverts her eyes from Samuel back to her glass. "One more, please," she says without even looking at the barman. "And for him, too."

Samuel ignores the subtle arrogance and decides to investigate, because Carla has made him genuinely curious. "If you're not talking about Christian, are you talking about Polo? But weren't you the one to break up with him, too?"

Carla laughs nonchalantly, as if she's almost amused with the stupidity of Samuel's questions, pulls her newly filled glass towards herself and slides the other one towards Samuel, with a small sound of the wood against the table. "I'll tell you if you drink something less embarrassing, _Whisky-cola_."

Sameul grits his teeth and downs his glass of whisky, feeling the familiar burn in his throat as soon as his lips only touch the glass. He doesn't understand how people can actually like the taste, it is bitter and overly strong, but he is not about to lose all of his remaining pride. Carla watches him with her quiet amusement and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on their ends. Carla has always had that effect on him: she makes him nervous. She has always, since as long as he can remember, probably even in kindergarten, seemed so confident, so sure of herself, so far above all of them. With Samuel's tendency to be insecure about every move he makes, he finds it the most intimidating character trait there is. Perhaps the most impressive one, too.

"Will you tell me now, why you're drinking alone on a Thursday?" he tries again, but just one look in her eyes, and he knows that it's a lost battle.

"What about you? Problems in paradise?" Carla remarks sarcastically, and definitely means it as a rhethorical question, because she doesn't really care, and she also definitely knows, yet he can't help but let out a heavy sigh.

"Guess." He is absolutely clueless and desperate, and if someone can help him with his relationship problem, maybe it is Carla, because she's seemed to resolve her own quite successfully – or at least, she was capable of getting out of them. 

She scoffs. "You're so easy to read, Samuel." It doesn't seem like a gibe, though; it's a mere observation. Still, an observation made from a position of power, because Carla exerts her dominance by telling him that she knows everything about his problems – and he can't even decipher a single one of hers.

Samuel finds himself ordering another round for the both of them, and Carla's eyebrow goes up, almost unnoticeably, but Samuel notices. He's satisfied to have gotten even the most miniature reaction out of her; normally, Carla keeps any traces of emotions from everyone behind a stone wall, and limits herself to displays of disgust and hauteur. Even a split-second of surprise having shown itself on her face seems like an impossible mission conquered to Samuel.

"How would you know that I'm easy to read?" he asks, feeling a surge of encouragement from at least having created a tiny dent in the walls of the ice-queen's palace.

Carla shakes her head in an almost loving, blissful acceptance of Samuel's flaws. "Well, you're here because of Marina, aren't you? Because she's not even bothering to talk to you, and she won't tell you what's wrong, and even though you've been so, _oh so_ patient with her, you're really about to reach your tipping point, am I right?"

The sheer indifference with which Carla recites her in all aspects accurate analysis of his life fills Samuel with unreasoned fury towards her. He responds to it by taking his glass and drinking again, with Carla's piercing eyes on him, as she lifts up her glass and sips, too. 

"What would you know about patience? You broke up with Polo when you got bored," he spits out, having calmed down a little with the whisky, but not enough.

Carla doesn't respond immediately, but her gaze stops going over his entirety and focuses on his eyes, making Samuel shudder. "That's what you think?" she asks, dangerously calmly and quietly, putting down her glass on the wooden bar. 

"Wasn't it like that?" he asks, Carla's stare making him uncomfortable. She has an incredulous look, like she doesn't believe what he's said.

"No." Her words cut through the air resolutely, like she's a persuasive speaker at a conference. Samuel would believe any of her arguments if she said them in this firm tone, that's how much power her words have. "I broke up with Polo because he cheated on me. With Christian."

If Samuel was shocked to see Carla at the bar, that doesn't even reach a tenth of the consternation he's feeling right now. Looking up at Carla, still with that emotionless expression on her face, doesn't make his thoughts clearer; it only makes everything worse. He is at a complete loss for words.

But he realizes that he needs to say something with each prolonging second of their eye contact, the emerald green of Carla's eyes not twitching, challengingly. "I'm sorry," he mutters, finally accepting his loss and looking down.

"You're sorry?" He can hear the surprise and the little lift of her eyebrow in Carla's voice, even though he's not looking at her.

"Well," he starts out carefully, "we're friends." She scoffs. "So, I'm sorry that you got cheated on. You don't deserve it." He feels her eyes piercing through his skull in her characteristic disbelief of his stupidity, and he doesn't blame her. He knows how imbecillic he sounded.

"We're not friends, Samuel," she decides to respond after a few seconds of silence and a dainty sip from her glass – is he wearing her out? Impossible. "We have the _same_ friends, but that doesn't make _us_ friends. Besides," she swirls around the brown liquid thoughtfully, watching it create a little whirl on her account, "I don't even think that we have mutual friends anymore. When was the last time you talked to Polo?"

"What about you?" he strikes back. "With Guzmán, Lu, and Polo mad at you because of Christian, and Christian and you broken up, you're not exactly Miss Popular."

He realizes after a split second of eye contact, and her little flick before she returns to her glass, that it really stung her, and he feels like the biggest jerk on Earth. After all, Carla was right about them not ever being proper friends – really, they barely talked, probably because her presence makes Samuel turn into a nervously stuttering mess – and she is definitely not the villain here, because she was the one who got chated on. But-

"But how come you started dating Christian, if he was the one Polo cheated with? How is that even a possibility?" he questions, genuinely confused, searching for an explanation in Carla's features, in the way that she moves, but her guard has gone back up.

"There's so much you don't understand, Samuel," she picks up her glass graciously and takes another sip, not sparing him a gaze, as if he was unworthy of it. "So much you don't know."

She vaguely gestures for another refill and he positions his glass accordingly, too, but he's wary, and studying her every move, because her last remark, the last sentence about him _not knowing_ , combined with the almost inaudible sigh and a glint of remorse in her eyes after she said it, has planted a suspicion in his chest. 

"Do you know something about Marina?" he asks, after they've finished their next glass, synchroniously in one gulp, and in silence.

She pulls on her lip with her tooth, and now, Samuel is sure. Just a split second of hesitance from her and he is sure, she knows Marina's secret, why his girlfriend has been acting so distant this whole time.

"You don't wanna know, Samuel," she whispers, leaning in closer towards him. That's when he realizes that the alcohol has also affected her, as much as she wouldn't admit it: her eyes are glassy and her voice is coarse.

"If you know something, you have to tell me," he tries weakly, but Carla just chuckles, then gets off her bar stool and starts walking away.

Before Samuel realizes what he's doing, he's following her – the alcohol has clearly had a weird effect on him, too – and watching her walk in front of him provocatively, turning her head around once, to make sure he was there. If Samuel was listening to his instincts, he would think that Carla was _seducing_ him – but he's drunk and those can clearly be brushed off the table. It's _Carla_ , for fuck's sake. Throughout his whole life, she's always made it completely clear that she is way above him in all existing hierarchies.

"Do you know something about Marina?" he pleads again, but he is surprised at how his voice comes out this time. Somehow stronger, more decisive, more _adult_.

Carla turns around. They're standing in front of the door to the bathoom, and she looks at him over her shoulder with actual sorrow in her eyes. "You don't wanna know, trust me," she whispers, and then she opens the door and slides in, gracefully.

Samuel opens it two seconds later, seeing her still turned back to him. "Try me."

"She's sleeping with your brother."

Samuel's eyes widen and his heart stops beating, with a weird icy fire spreading over his insides. He doesn't know when he's made three fast steps towards Carla, or when she's turned around, or when their noses got so close together that they can hear each other's breaths, fast and rapid. "You're lying."

Carla's emerald eyes stare at him from a two centimeter distance, strong and firm and somehow apologetic underneath, and when she brushes her hand over his thigh – as if accidentally, but Samuel knows Carla, and knows that she doesn't provide space for accidents – something switches in his brain.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

He attacks her lips, furiously and inhumanely, in the way that he's been craving for so long. Carla complies for a second, but then she shakes him off, and Samuel expects a snarky remark or a self-righteous laugh, maybe a slap, but instead, what Carla does, is proceed into the futher part of the bathroom, unmistakably swaying her hips, through the door with emerald-green glass – the same as her eyes.

"You knew this whole time, and you didn't tell me," he starts, the rage in him bubbling up to the surface, because Carla is standing in front of him with her arms crossed and a fiery test in her eyes, as if she was the one in the right, not him. And if she's not telling the truth – if this is some elaborate scheme constructed for him to cheat on Marina, so that she has a reason to break up with him and make it his fault – the worst thing is, he doesn't care at all. Carla in a tight black dress, in front of him, in a bathroom of a bar, is about everything he can think of right now.

"We're not friends, Samuel," she stares into his eyes, deeply, not providing an excuse for herself for keeping the secret – providing an excuse for him to _go for it_. Because they're not friends, it's not like they have a relationship to protect.

So, he does. He takes a step towards Carla, grabs her neck and kisses her, with the same anger and a long-pent up desire – seriously, Marina and him last _kissed_ about a week ago, because she hasn't even been bothered to give the slightest effort into making it seem like they're happy together – and now, that he has a reason, he takes it out on Carla. It attributes for an insane amount of aggression being transmitted between their lips, and Carla fights back – obviously, she's _Carla_ – so their tongues start fiercely fighting for dominance.

"You're kissing your best friend's boyfriend," he tries as a last resort, breaking the kiss as the thought of Carla lying about Marina flashes in front of his eyes again – he would be so screwed. But with Carla pushing him down on a chair next to the sinks a second later and straddling him, he quickly forgets.

"I just want you to get your revenge," she whispers, descending onto his lap and obviously, feeling his hard on as she finally almost-sits, then goes back up again and looks at him seductively. Samuel is pretty sure he has never seen a hotter sight in his life – a breathless Carla, a bit of sweat under her hairline, her lips swollen and her chest pressed against his – well, that's not a sight, that's a touch. "Don't you want to?"

Of course Samuel does – not exactly by the motive of revenge, more by the mere fact that Carla, probably the hottest girl he knows, is straddling him in a bathroom after a month of sexual abstinence, but he can't help himself and ask when he starts unzipping his jeans. "Are you sure? Aren't you just doing this because you're upset about Polo and Christian?"

"You're always so oblivious, Samuel," he hears her whisper frustratedly, and the next thing, she's sitting down on him and throwing her head back, grabbing his hair and biting her lip as not to pant. Samuel isn't capable of silencing himself, though, definitely not after a month, and definitely not with Carla, so he moans as he grips her butt tightly and has her descend and ascend with a rhythmic precision, and her sweaty palms are desperately clutching on his white shirt – where is his stupid denim jacket – and her back is arched as she's throwing her head back, so she's practically sticking her breasts into his face.

"Fuck, Carla," he groans, and can't think of anything but the overwhelming pleasure, that exceeds anything he's ever experienced. It's not just that it's after a long time - it's Carla. She feels _different_. Better, by an astounding degree, if that wasn't obvious. 

"Don't talk," she says, but she involuntarily gasps in the middle of the two words as he thrusts up harder, and he feels another glimpse of satisfaction when he – _again_ – catches her in a moment where she can't supress a display of her enjoyment.

"You're better at this than I thought, you know," she says when their little revolt is over, and she is zipping up her dress, kind of matter-of-fact. "Maybe you're incapable of seeing what's right under your nose, but you can give a good fuck."

She leaves him in the girls' bathroom with the sound of her heels on the mahogany colored tiles, alone with the realization of what has just happened and how his life has turned completely upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it <3


	2. we're not friends and we're not lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uu we made a bit of a time jump! this could be seen as the pool party au (except it's not because it should be earlier for the rest of the chapters to fit into this). so basically, yeray throws the party a month earlier and we're all good with the timeline. it's not like he matters, so his social events can be pushed around.  
> (title is from _tempt my trouble_ by bishop briggs. i wholeheartedly recommend you to watch this (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtKngO9BJcM&ab_channel=anitaxv - i'm sorry i can't make my link work i'll try it again later) carmuel edit which made me discover the song and it's also an AMAZING edit i love it so much.)

The best part of Carla's week takes place in the guestroom of Yeray's poolhouse. _Her_ poolhouse, actually.

It had been fifteen days since her and Samuel's last encounter and she really couldn't take it anymore. Seeing Samuel arrive at the party without Marina – who is allegedly at ballet practice – _again_ , swaying her hips a bit more than she should've, making sure Yeray is positively drunk and occupied by some pathetic kiss-asses and slipping her phone out just to give _him_ a quick instruction – it really couldn't have gone in any other way.

He arrives within a few minutes and practically throws himself at her, and Carla almost wants to scream at how good it feels. He's not like Yeray, stiff and careful. He's hungry and desperate, maybe even more than she.

"Do you like doing it with me in your boyfriend's bed?" he groans against her mouth exactly what she's been thinking ever since he carefully opened the door and found her in a white and slighty wet swimsuit. The goosebumps on her skin aren't to be accounted to the damp fabric though – it's all Samuel's job.

She responds by kissing him eagerly, and soon, it's not just their tongues dancing, it's their whole bodies, it's panting and scratching and biting and heat. Carla definitely isn't cold anymore, despite the cold taken-off swimsuit under her back, creating a wet stain on the snow-white sheet.

Sometimes, between the kisses and thrusts and gasps, she wonders what _exactly_ it is that makes Samuel so much better than Yeray, and sometimes she wonders how much better she is than Marina. Clearly by quite a lot, because they've kept it up for some time – she never would've thought after she kind of absentmindedly fucked him for the first time in a bathroom of a bar, that they'd develop a whole long-term secret fuckbuddy system.

Oh, how things have changed. Or not. She has a boyfriend now, but Samuel is still with Marina, and Carla can't feel too guilty towards her best friend when she knows that she cheated on Samuel multiple times with Nano. It's a kind of vengeance; still, if she thinks about it, it is ridiculous that they've all been making it work for so long, Samuel and Marina still the perfect couple in front of their parents, Carla and Marina still the best friends since the first grade. Sure, the thing is, none of them really talk outside of where they're expected. Samuel and Marina are cold as ice, Marina and Carla's intimate friendship has reduced to pure gossip and an occassional complaint about school or parents, and Carla doesn't even know whether Marina and Nano really are over, as the redhead had told Samuel in her teary plea to forgive her and _not ruin everything for their families._

Of course, he did. Carla wouldn't have expected a different outcome. Samuel and Marina are probably going to get married in a few years, and now, Carla knows that she'll go to their wedding with Yeray as her date – unless they take their time and the contract will be over before the two decide to _tie the knot_ – and she should be thinking about how fucked up it is and how horrible of a person she is, if not towards Marina, then at least Yeray, whom she is only using to save her family, and don't be mistaken, she does think about it, and her intestines churn and her fists clench and her throat closes up a little.

She can't bring herself to think about it when she is with Samuel, though, because they're just _too good_ together.

Who would've thought? They were never really close. They practically started as strangers with benefits, and now, perhaps they've moved into the acquaintance area, but Carla isn't naive and knows that that is as close as they're gonna get. Of course, when Samuel caught her on Molly that one time, she couldn't hear the end of it. He literally refused to sleep with her until she promised she'd give it up.

Of course she did. He's much better than any stimulant, anyways.

And probably an even more dangerous addictive.

She pretty much can't live without her regular dose of him; no matter Yeray and what's at stake, no matter their fathers' being enemies – it's childish, really. No matter how fucked everything would be if their affair came to light. Carla can't help but wonder grimly whether they will be doing this for the rest of their lives. She also can't help but wonder whether it would be so bad.

There's something refreshing about a non-relationship relationship. It's certainly the best sex she's ever had, for the start. As she's said, she often wonders what the reason for that might be, but she usually writes it off to the adrenaline – and to Samuel's undeniable attractivity – and moves on.

She can't get caught up and think of it as anything else. That's their rule: just sex, no feelings.

The stupid thoughts that get their way into her head sometimes when he's panting and clenching her butt or softly biting her lip during a kiss ot _eating her out_ , or, as of right now, thrusting into her with one of her legs over his shoulder and her hands desperately crumpling the fresh sheet that they will inevitably stain and she'll have to make up another story about a friend of hers having used the guest room – and when he drops her leg to bend down and kiss her and muffle the groan of her name in her mouth and thrust harder and rub her clit and tips her over the edge – oh no, the thoughts are problematic, but certainly explicable.

It's a rational response from her brain to be attracted to the guy who breathlessly falls onto the bed next to her, his eyes glossy and his skin glowing and his hair an absolute mess and her fingerprints stamped into his back.

She stares at him somewhat admiringly, because he's hot, _they're_ hot, they _work_ , and she really needed that – meaning _him_ – today, after finding out that she'll be stuck with Yeray for _five years_. She might notice the tiny fleck of hazel in his otherwise dark left iris, but it's just how close they are and how his eyes are staring deeply into hers. It's normal, maybe it's not what they do – try to penetrate each other's souls and make them mix into one – but they haven't been together for so long and it feels somewhat appropriate to appreciate each other after that long hiatus.

It's entirely Carla's fault that she gets lost in his eyes and doesn't see the warning signs - or chooses to ignore them? She doesn't really know; perhaps a combination of both. One way or the other, she misses the catastrophe approaching her frontally as fast as a shinkansen train – she tied herself to the tracks and closed her eyes.

"I love you."

 _Oh no_ , Carla thinks. _Oh no_.

"Samuel." It was meant to sound unaffected. Disconnected from the situation. Barky, even. Instead, it came out tender. "You know that's not a possibility."

"Why not?" His voice is less soft than Carla's, it's more hoarse, demanding. Carla can't seem to hate it, the possesiveness that _can't_ be there. She can't seem to dismiss his hope quickly and angrily as she should, she can't even get angry at him for being so stupid.

She can still get frustrated, though. She sits up on the bed and shakes her head to make her hair fall over one of her shoulders like a golden waterfall. She ignores Samuel's eyes on the curve of her neck, lustful yet warmly admiring. "For starters, our fathers hate each other."

Samuel scoffs, the bicep of his left arm by which he is supporting himself to be slightly lifted up, flexing, and Carla's eyes involuntarily tick down as he grabs onto the sheet with his fingers forming an evil claw. "Are we seriously going to let some ancient love affair of our parents be the obstacle?"

Carla's eyes widen in surprise, because she didn't know about the reasoning behind her father's possesiveness over her mother nor behind Pilar's snarky remarks towards her, but she doesn't ask for more information. Instead, she turns her back to him and lets her feet fall to the ground from the bed, speaking to the window in a matter-of-fact way. "You have a serious girlfriend. I have a serious boyfriend."

"That neither of us loves."

"You're so dramatic, Samuel. Like you'd know what love is."

"I do, actually." She feels the weight of the bed shifting under herself, him rolling over, the wood squeaking. His breath is cold and transient on her skin, on the back side of her neck, on her earlobe. "When I'm with you."

She freezes for two infinitely long seconds, his lips pressing on her goosebumps tantalizingly slow, but she moves away before he can proceed with his kiss higher up her neck. "You're delusional. This isn't love."

"What is it, then?" She should walk away. She should get up and walk away, because this is getting dangerous. Her breath is jittery and _his_ breath is fluttery on her neck, and they have to stop because they've oficially crossed the line.

"A cure for our boredom." He slips his hand to her thigh, her bare and naked thigh, and she doesn't move away. "And lust," she adds, biting her lip, feeling his hand move up, her cheeks flushing.

"Why are you lying to yourself, Carla?"

He makes her come for the second time. Even then, when she's high on _him_ , she can't get his words out of her head. They're invading over her brain like the plague. An extremely dangerous, overwhelming and deadly disease that affects her reasoning and that she has to exterminate _now_.

"We're just trouble, Samuel," she gets out, still slightly breathless, spread over the sheet, their thighs over each other, their fingers touching. "You know how everything would get so complicated-"

"I don't give a shit about our parents."

"What about Marina?"

He scoffs. "The thing between us has been dead for years. I'm gonna kill myself sooner than marry her."

Carla tries not to let her surprise show, because really, she has always thought that despite everything, Marina and Samuel get on well as _people_. Maybe not in bed, but in _life_. "She's my friend, too."

Her excuse is weak and Samuel knows it. "Sure. What you've been doing for over a year behind her back is very _friendly_."

"Just drop it, Samuel." She really is angry now, furious and exhausted and somehow also feels like she's going to cry. "We're never gonna work."

"Not if you don't give it a chance."

She scoffs, turns to her side, finds her swimsuit on the floor and starts putting it on. It sticks uncomfortably to her flushed body, the damp sparkly elastan, and suddenly she feels the urge to rip it off, throw it out of the window and disappear under the blankets. With him.

She turns around one last time before leaving the room, sees Samuel still on his elbow and still pensievely staring at her like he wants to suck out her soul – and like he knows what's inside of it anyways – and that deranges her. "You don't love me, Samuel. We're not together. We're not even friends. We're _nothing_."

She finds Yeray and is relieved to see that he's way too drunk to do anything. Unfortunately, he sobers up before midnight comes, before she falls asleep, and with his stiff silhouette over her in his precisely rhythmic machine movements, she closes her eyes and thinks about Samuel telling her he _loves her_.

They have to stop with it, _now_. They broke the rule. It's too dangerous, they're getting too reckless, somebody could find out, their families would be in ruins, Samuel's father's business partnership with Ventura would be in danger and her family's wineries would go bankrupt.

They're not friends. It's not hard not to talk to him at school for days; they rarely do, anyways. Their relation is strictly limited to bathrooms and beds.

It's hard to resist his propitious look at her when he tells Guzmán that he's staying late after school for a _tutoring group_. She texts Yeray during class not to wait for her after school because she has to take a make up Physics test. He responds with _Good luck_ and a heart emoji.

She feels Samuel's eyes on her back when she sighs and defeatedly drops her phone into her purse.

 _Fucking shit_ , Carla thinks when he pins her against a locker in the empty hallway, twenty minutes after last period ended, and cups her cheek, his eyes practically melting into hers as he leans in slowly and savours her lips in a perfectly delicate harmony.

He really is the most dangerous drug she could've picked.


	3. why don't you take what you want from me (and go)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so nobody cares about the timeline in relation to canon anymore. or, i certainly don't. this is just - sometime after the last one. whatever.  
> (title is from _take what you want_ by post malone and ozzy osbourne)

Samuel is not having the best day of his life right now. Call him dramatic, but it simply doesn't put a person in a good mood to listen to shouting fights about his ex's and his older brother's not-so-secret love affair, which has finally become such general knowledge that it reached the circles of their parents.

It's humiliating enough to have your years-long relationship blow up because the girl has been fucking your brother for nine-tenths of its duration. It's absolute fucking hell to have your parents involved in it, collapsing business partnerships and teenage infidelity creating a big, loud dramatic mess where your parents switch inbetween blaming you, your brother, your (ex-)girlfriend, her parents, and then finally each other. Add a pinch of financial problems and lawsuits thrown in your family's way, and you have a perfect recipe for an insanity-inducing marinade.

The pinch of seasoning is added when your best-friend, also your ex's sister, decides to throw a light-hearted joke in your face the first thing you step into a Monday-morning classroom and collapse onto your chair next to him: “I'd never think I'd say this, but couldn't you have fucked my sister better? Maybe we wouldn't be in this mess.”

Samuel knows that Guzmán's family situation is just as horrible as his right now, but this type of _dealing with problems_ from him he doesn't need. Humorous. _Ha, ha._ He doesn't even snort, just turns away.

Math passes and he ignores Guzmán's exasparated “It was a joke, dude,” steps straight out into the hallway to clear his head and get away from at least some of the pitying looks (not that it helps – the corridors are informed as well. News spread like bush fire around Las Encinas. _Oakwood fire._ )

He's definitely not an egomaniac, but he's not gonna lie: that pity from sophomore brace-faced and badly-acne-concealed faces is aggravating. It makes him want to do something really, really stupid.

He's not an imbecile – he doesn't do what comes to his mind that would definitely scrub the smirks off those kids' faces. That doesn't mean he's just going to marinate in this like a fucking premium alaskan salmon.

He takes out his phone and clicks on the profile picture whose sight also fills him with horrible frustration – but at least it'll be better than this.

_I had a shitty day. I need to be with you._

Carla doesn't respond, but he's about eighty-five percent sure that she'll eventually come around. They haven't fucked in a while.

¤

Seeing her wait for him under the stairs kind of makes him regret it. Curing pain with a different kind of pain might not be the ideal solution – but it's also the best option he has.

“Is this a good idea right now?” she speaks lowly, eyes hastily ticking between grey and navy blazers, trying to decipher whether anyone is noticing them speaking amd finding it weird.

He wants to snort. Nobody would think him capable of sleeping with the hottest chick in the year (and definitely not on a regular basis). He knows what the girls are saying about him. “I mean, he's cute, but I kinda get Marina. He's just so-” _suggestive facial expression_ “ _-you know?_ But Nano...”

“As good as anytime else,” he cuts her off. Blame him for being unpleasant.

Carla purses her lips into a thin line. “I was just trying to give you some space,” she murmurs lowly, eyes on her shoes. That kind of surprises him, but he doesn't let it seep into anything else.

“Are your parents home?” he asks pragmatically, and when she affirms, he curses. “Well. Then I guess we can go to that stupid poolhouse of that stupid boyfriend of yours.”

“Yeray's throwing a party,” Carla reiterates. He hears something weird under her calmness, but doesn't read into it. He doesn't even look at her.

Here's the thing with Carla: he is in love with her. Definitely more than he's ever been in love with anyone else, let alone Marina.

He's told her twice, and she never said it back. Each time, it was kinda like he died and then unfortunately came back to life.

Despite her lack of response, she still continues to fuck him. She doesn't say no to _that_ – at least she's appreciative of his skills, he thinks bitterly, because none of the other girls deem him useful in that field, either.

Carla does. Maybe it's because it feels different with her than anyone else (well, the one person he has to compare). Because he _loves her_. But after the second time he expressed it, he was at least smart enough to realize that he needs to stop embarrassing himself.

Carla doesn't love him back, it's clear as day. At least he has it better than Yeray, because she doesn't even _like_ (fucking) that guy.

Anyway. He'll take what he can get with Carla.

-or so he thought. But today, it just hurts a little more when he finally looks at her and she seems pensieve, upset, _beautiful_. “Samuel – I'm sorry.”

She looks like she means it. It outrages him, because she has nothing to be sorry for.

“For what?” His voice sounds cool, impersonal. “We can do it in the bathroom, you know.”

She bites her lip, looks at him – what the fuck is so different about her eyes today? – and nods. “Sure. By the gym, ten minutes.”

He watches her leave, halo of blonde hair swaying behind her, taking tiny little steps and her ass shaking a little, and for a second, he thinks it would be less painful not to show up at all.

It's not like he has to remind himself of another girl who doesn't think he's good enough.

¤

He shows up, of course. He might be a bit heartbroken or some shit, but he's also a teenage guy. Frustrations are best dealt by with sex.

It's a sight for the gods as he comes in and discovers Carla neatly folding her blouse. She's still wearing her unform skirt and low-heeled shoes, her bra is lacey and goes with her white socks and – well. He supposes he can forget about his problem of unrequited love for a while.

“Look who we have here,” Carla takes a step towards him, securing that the door is closed. She's wiggling a little, biting her lip. “I missed you.”

No, she hasn't. She missed his dick.

Samuel didn't anticipate the sharp throb of pain in his gut when she presses herself against him and kisses him. If anything, he thought it'd be silenced. But he guesses not.

“Didn't you miss me?” Carla continues, still using her experienced-seductress tone.

He groans, kisses her rougly and his hand finds its way under her skirt fast – too fast, probably, judging by her surprised squeak. Whatever. He needs a distraction from his heart, which seems to be shatterring into a million little pieces.

It doesn't take long before Carla quietly starts moaning into his shoulder, his fingers pumping in and out of her at a relentless pace. He satisfiedly discovers that his means of distraction are successful – he isn't thinking about his tragic family life nor crippling heartbreak.

Until she looks at him and it all goes to shit.

“Let me do something for you, too,” Carla whispers, tongue sticking out to lick her lips for a milisecond, then plops onto her knees and before he can even register what is happening, he's out in the open and her lips are wrapped around him.

His last coherent thought informs him that she's sucking him off right now just because of pity, because she's obviously aware of what the hottest topics in school are. If it brings these results, he doesn't mind pity that much though, plus clear thinking is quickly pushed out the picture.

“Fuck, Carla,” he pants, clenching his fists desperately. “Fuck!”

She frees her head, just strokes him slowly with her hand while looking up and grinning at him. “Did I make your shitty day better?”

“Yeah,” he gets out, because fucking hell, she did, and she contendedly gets up and kisses him. His dick is protruding into the air and when it scrapes her stomach, she gasps into his mouth.

He makes a quick job of pushing her panties down, lifting up her skirt and going in. Her head falls back and her eyes roll as she clenches around him and sticks her fingernails into his shoulder.

He focuses on her face – flushed, smooth, gasping, lips a little chapped around the edges and exhales. She's absolutely perfect.

And she's not his.

Carla squirms against his touch when he grabs her butt to settle in, and that just deranges him. What does it matter that she's jumping on his dick right now, gasping his name and mixing her sweat and perfume together to attack his senses, when she'll never be his? She has that fucking Yeray, and although she's cheating on him, she also tells him she loves him – whether that is true is irrelevant – and he speeds up his movements in some kind of crazy vengeance. Carla shudders in suprise but doesn't protest (obviously); she tugs on his hair with one hand and moans _Samuel_ as he attacks her neck with an aggressive kiss.

“Fuck,” she whines, he holds her closer, adds a finger to rub on her clit and a few noises and thrusts and curses later he feels her come, clenching around his dick.

He pulls out when he feels her orgasm dissolving (blame him for not having a condom on hand at school – she's on the pill anyways, but just to make sure) and expects her to take care of it with her hand, but she falls down on her knees again and literally ravishes him.

“Carla-” he warns her, admittedly half-heartedly. He knew it was too late a few second ago.

Blame him for being an asshole today. He just kind of felt like pissing her off a little, since his life is a colossal shitshow and she doesn't even love him. He might as well make her a bit annoyed and make her perfect face growl.

Carla gulps.

_Oh, fuck._

That, he wasn't expecting.

¤

They shower – _actually_ shower, since they know that the school will be locked in forty-five minutes, thus the cleaning ladies will be coming in any second, and getting caught might not be the best idea. Carla's tan, lean curves are twisting against the water stream.

She's so beautiful it hurts. He turns away and stubbornly stares at the tiles.

“Samuel?”

The showers pause at the same time and the second syllable of his name echoes through the empty bathroom.

“Yeah?”

“That was – amazing,” Carla says, but he suspects that's not what she had in mind. Besides, right now, that just makes him feel like shit, because he basically made her swallow his cum without warning. If anyone should be praising the other one, it's him.

He should probably apologize or something. He doesn't.

He's feeling, contradictory to what he should be feeling after incredibly hot sex, absolutely shitty. He'll have to go home, face whatever bullshit awaits him there, go to school again, probably make up with Guzmán. Fuck Carla again in a week and go through this indescribable pleasure that also kinda makes him wish he was dead.

Carla sighs almost inaudibly, pressing the shower button once again and turning around. He was side to her, she was back to him – but now their eyes met for a second, and he can't ignore what's in hers anymore. She looks fucking sad for some reason, and it's exasperating _and_ heartbreaking.

“Samuel – are you okay?”

She takes a step towards him and grabs his wrist. Samuel stubbornly focuses on the drain. “I'm fine,” he utters coldly (and unconvincingly). “You don't have to pretend like you care.”

“I care,” Carla objects, her grip on his wrist tightening.

He snorts.

“Stop being an asshole,” her voice goes a half-note higher. “I know it must be shit, with Marina and Nano and Guzmán and everything. You don't have to act like you're not affected in front of me, because you suck at it anyways!”

“Oh, yeah! Well sorry not all of us are ice queens!” He's abhorrently easy to provoke; it's because of Carla's touch. It's burning his skin and _heart_.

Carla lets go of his hand urgently, turning away. He knows she's pursed her lips into a thin line as she steps out of the shower and walks over to the wall hooks for her towel. She wraps herself in it methodically, then stands in the middle of the bathroom quietly for a few seconds.

“You don't have to be an asshole. All I'm trying to do is help you.”

Samuel _does_ feel really shitty when he hears it, because she's definitely right, but also because she just doesn't understand what he does: that her help is as comforting as it is hurting him.

“Seriously, Samuel. You know what? My life's a complete shitshow too, but I don't go around acting like a jerk towards the people that matter.”

His laugh is coarse and painful. “Yeah, right. Like you care. I mean, you do, because you'd have noone to give you a good fuck without me. But you know, maybe you can train Yeray to be good in bed-”

He registers a gentle thud, a gush of cold air as the currents in the room were thrown off their usual courses, and a slap. When he looks up, Carla's standing in front of him in an empty and quiet shower, hair wet and eyes full of fury. “Grow the fuck up, Samuel,” she hisses. “Life is not a fairytale.”

“Yeah? Well, tell me what's so wrong about yours,” he fights back, ignoring the clear warning in her voice. “You don't have a scumbag brother, a fucking mess of a bankrupting family, and you have two guys who love you to death. Meanwhile, every fucking person in this school thinks that I'm a clown, my dad's business is going to shit because of my cheating girlfriend and you use me as a walking dick to deal with your libido, then go home with your boyfriend for round two and tell him you love him after you fuck him when you're fucking cuddling in bed!”

That was a huge word vomit even for him; he registers Carla's fury creeping on him, even though she seems perfectly composed (as well as she can be when they're fighting naked in a school shower and about to be discovered by their janitor).

“Yeah, right. My life is so fucking perfect.” Her irony is relentless and tone matter-of-fact. “Just so you know, my parents are literally so fucked that I have to date Yeray to save our wineries. My mum's depressed and my dad's cheating, and I don't even _have_ a brother so I'm the one who has to deal with all of their bullshit. But,” she chuckles, so fake that it makes Samuel's stomach clench, “My life is a perfect fairytale and you're a poor baby whose is a trainwreck.”

“Carla,” he exhales, feeling inherently stupid again and somehow even worse (he didn't think that was possible), but she interrupts him.

“Everyone's lives are fucked up here, Samuel,” she whispers tenderly, the tone of her voice taking a 180° turn, and brushes his damp hair off his forehead, making him momentarily forget how to breathe. “Which is why it's important that we have each other, no?”

She smiles sadly and leaves him with the realization of how much an asshole he really was deepening each second. “Carla?” he calls out before he can stop himself.

She doesn't turn around but throws her head back in a reverse nod, which prompts him to continue. He ignores the knife twisting in his chest as he gets out: “I love you. And I know you don't feel the same, but you-” he chokes, “-you just deserve to know and to be told that, because you're the strongest and most amazing girl I know.”

He's about to get out of the shower and dry himself off, as if the towel could also absorb the embarrassment and _pain_ , and he's expecting Carla just to walk out into the changing room without a reaction; sure, she's stopped walking and her shoulders slouched, but that's about it. He's not getting his hopes up.

Carla turns around, tears glistening in her eyes, lowers her head slowly and half-whispers into the floor: “I love you too.”


	4. too late to say goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter! idk if i like this but also, idk how to fix it, so hopefully some of you like it (at least somewhat). ok wtf was this sentence.  
> also, title is a cage the elephant song.

Admittedly, all of this situation is Carla's fault.

She got reckless, and she shouldn't have – she was the one keeping them in check. Of course that when she stopped acting as the safety fuse, the mechanism broke. Nobody, and least of all Carla, would expect Samuel to be the one to hold them back.

Carla doesn't know _when_ it happened – when she realized she loved him, when she said it out loud, when she let him kiss her at school when classes were still going on for the first time, when she snuck him into her house while her parents were at home. Somewhere between these occurrences, Carla kind of stopped paying attention and focused on _feeling good_.

She almost never _feels good_ – only when she's with him. As much as she was stupid, her stupidity was understandable. That doesn't make it any better, though.

Actually, she _does_ know when the real downfall came: when, after Samuel and Marina's relationship crisis got kind of glossed over and Samuel told her, shrugging, sitting on her bed, that the García's and Nunier's wouldn't part in bad blood (or at all), she didn't investigate into what that means for them – all three of them. Just pecked his lips and then let him climb on top of her.

And then, somehow, for whatever reason, decided to randomly tell him she loved him during sex.

So much _wrong_ in just one event. That was when even the last, tiny bits of her rationale flew out of her brain. The worst thing was, after she saw the genuine surprise and uninhibited joy in Samuel's eyes, she decided that it had been worth it.

If she hadn't made these irresponsible decisions, it wouldn't have come to _this_.

 _This_ being, she's fucking Samuel half-dressed in a guest room at a party, and it takes her more than a few seconds and a muffled gasp to realize that someone has opened the door. It's only a theatrical _cough_ that gets her caught up.

"Samuel," she whisper-screams, stands up from him – she was straddling him while he was sitting on a bed – and turns her head to what she already knows is there.

"Carla?" Lu says with a perfect mixture of disgust and shock. She could dub animated characters. "Samuel? What the _fuck_?"

Not an _I'm sorry_ like a normal person could say after they've stormed into a room without knocking (admittedly, they're at Lu's house, but still). Just, _Carla_. Jesus, Lu sounded as judgmental as her _mother_.

Samuel grows about as red as a tomato and mutters something incomprehensible while frantically zipping up his jeans; Carla pulls up her dress, tries to zip it and fails because she can't reach her back, and strikes Lu a _so-what_ look of defiance.

"I'll let you – deal with this," Lu raises her eyebrow mockingly. "But Carla, we're gonna need to talk."

She slams the door and Carla scoffs. Lu and her haven't talked like friends in literal months, they know nothing of each other's current problems, but she has the audacity to act _hurt,_ entitled to know about her affairs that she disapproves of in a snap of fingers.

"Uh," Samuel reminds her of his existence, which she's frankly kind of forgotten about. It's not like he can add anything useful right now. "This could be a problem."

Carla exhales shakily; that's for sure. This could be a massive, huge, horrible problem for her and him and Yeray and Marina and basically everyone else.

But even though Lu and her don't talk anymore, they used to be friends. She's not going to want to completely ruin her life. Right?

"It'll be fine. Lu won't tell anyone," she announces heavily and sits down on the bed.

"I hope so," Samuel gets out just as thickly. "Otherwise, I'm really fucked. _We're_ really fucked."

"Maybe rightfully so," Carla murmurs. _So, so_ _stupid._ "You know all of this is your fault, right?"

She's not about to admit that it is in fact _hers_ , because she's the one inbetween them who's supposed to have self-control.

"I'm sorry," Samuel utters dryly. "But last time I checked, two people were required to do what we were doing."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Carla rubs her temple with two fingers. She's not in the mood for a serious nor a half-hearted argument. She has to outline her plan for damage control. "I have to go find Lu."

"I should probably go home," Samuel nods curtly and stands up. "Bye, Carla."

He leaves without saying anything else, let alone a hug or a peck on the lips. It shouldn't be a reason to be disappointed.

Carla's not exactly doing her best with reason. That's why it stings as the door clicks behind him. She has to breathe in and out, purse her lips and remind herself that she has an important mission to take care of.

And that letting loose and concentrating too much on her _feelings_ is exactly what brought her into this mess.

¤

"Does Yeray know?"

Carla sighs. "What do you think, Lu?"

They're both quiet. It was a rhetorical question. Lu sips from a plastic cup – the parties at her house aren't what they used to be – and shakes her head a little. "I just don't get it. Why would you cheat on him with _Samuel?_ "

Carla hears the clear condescension which upsets her more than it should. "Maybe because Samuel isn't insufferable and doesn't treat me like a trophy," she barks.

Lu lifts her eyebrow ever-so-slightly. "Looking for pure, unmaterialistic love?"

" _Please._ He _fucks_ better," Carla hisses, getting defensive. _Too_ defensive. "And you don't get the right to judge me."

She realizes that this confrontation is absolutely not going according to her damage-control plan, so she backs off. "I mean. It's just complicated. Please, don't tell anyone."

She knows how pleading and desperate she sounded and how fake it was, but it doesn't matter. She needs this.

"I'm not gonna tell anyone," Lu rolls her eyes. "If you tell me whether _you_ are the reason Samuel and Marina broke up."

Carla doesn't know whether Samuel and Marina actually _are_ broken up right now, but she doesn't say that. "It's common knowledge she's been cheating on him with Nano for like two years. That's the _only_ reason," she clenches through her teeth dangerously. "Nobody knows about Samuel and me, and it's gonna stay that way."

"You're so intense," Lu groans. "Jesus. I'm not gonna tell anyone. I _promise_."

"Thanks," Carla mutters, not trusting herself to look up. She really is a huge bitch. "Thank you, Lu."

She storms out of the room, leans on a wall and lets her breath find its natural pace. That would be it. Crisis averted.

She finds her way to the kitchen, does a shot but it doesn't help. There's still a needy, annoying question tugging on her neurotransmitters.

What _are_ Samuel and Marina, currently?

¤

"Hey."

"Hi."

Okay, this is a little weird. She knows they're both very out of place, taking a _walk in the park_. It's just not what they do.

It's not what they're doing right now, either. They're not on a _date_. Carla's here with a purpose.

"Are Marina and you together or not?"

It's not like putting it off will change anything.

Sanuel licks his lip and bites his tongue, almost provocatively. That's usually her specialty, but she doesn't point it out. She just wants her answer, to determine how big of a catastrophe it will be if they get busted. If Lu goes nuts and exposes them with a megaphone yelling from the school roof or something.

Of course, it would be better if Marina and Samuel weren't together, for obvious reasons. This is already a one-way cheating mess, no need to double it (and where Marina is added, it's more like tripling).

There's also a tiny selfish piece of her that wants Samuel to go down with her.

And another, completely unrelated selfish piece that doesn't want Marina and Samuel to be together no matter what.

"Are you jealous?"

"In your dreams," Carla snorts. "I'm on _damage control_."

Samuel chuckles amusedly. "Sure." He just takes her hand without reason, instead of continuing, and although that is a somewhat feel-good surprise, she's getting impatient.

"Are you together?"

"Define _together_."

What a smartass. Carla punches him in the chest with their joint hands – now, they're really taking a walk in the park. What a cliché. " _Dating_. I'm just trying to keep our little faux-pas under the rug, dumbass, so you could maybe answer me."

Something undefinable sparkles in Samuel's eyes. "Officially, yes." He pecks Carla's temple – what the fuck has gotten into him today – and murmurs into her hair: "Practically, no."

Carla pulls away and makes sure that the irony in her voice is overexcessive, so that even the dumbass will get it. " _Officially?_ "

Samuel shakes his head defeatedly, lowers it and explains to the ground: "We're keeping it up in front of our parents."

She snorts. "Don't tell me that they still believe you, after all of that cheating and Nano bullshit was discussed at dinner parties."

"Our parents can be pretty stupid," Samuel points out. "They're experts at living in denial. They think we inherited it from them."

"Isn't it a little far-fetched to pretend just for them to be happy with their business buddies?" Carla argues innecessantly, because she already has her answer.

Samuel chuckles. "Are _you_ really telling me that, Carla?"

She scrapes her lip with her teeth, looks up at him, looks around and then nods curtly. "Fair point. I'm a hypocrite."

"You're not a hypocrite. You're just doing what needs to be done," he says, slides his hand onto her lower back and has her lean on his shoulder. She doesn't protest. "We all are."

¤

Carla feels almost peaceful after waking up the next Monday morning. She wakes up stupidly smiling with a memory of Samuel and her eating ice-cream at the park like the picture-perfect highschool sweethearts they definitely aren't.

She's reminded of that as soon as she steps into Las Encinas and is met with a mixture of all kinds of gazes: condescending, curious, outraged, mocking.

But all on her.

It doesn't take a genius to guess, and exactly three seconds of slight unsurety pass before someone spits in her face: "So, you and Samuel, huh?"

She is going to _kill_ Lucrecia.

And herself, probably, seeing who's approaching her resembling a steam train, practically fuming out of his ears and all rigid, blocky, _hard_.

"Carla, why are they saying this about you?"

She's positive her head is going to explode. "Not now, Yeray." She tries to put as much meaning into her words as she can, but he's not particularly bright, so she doubts it will work. "Not _here_."

"Yes, here! They're saying that you and Samuel-"

"What don't you understand about not making a scene?" Carla hisses, pushing herself up into his face. "We will talk about this later."

"Carla!"

She ignores him; she knows it's not a productive solution, but she can't deal with him. She needs to find Lu and push her out of the window to relieve her anger. That absolute fucking bitch. _I promise I won't tell anyone._ Yeah, sure.

But when she steps though the door of their first-period classroom, Lu isn't there. Who is, though, is a problem that she hasn't considered althogether but she should've.

"So. You've been fucking my boyfriend this whole time?"

God, she hates this tone of voice Marina does. This provocative, sleazy, nonchalant thing. She wants to punch it out of her. (Yes, she's aware that her thoughts are very violent today. It's just that, though; her thoughts. She gives them a pass - finds them reasonable.)

"You've been fucking his brother. Why don't you let Samuel have his share," she retorts coolly. Marina is four levels behind Carla at looking unaffected while her insides are searing. She's going down.

"That doesn't matter! He was still my boyfriend and we are best friends!" Truly, her voice is already in high-pitch. She has zero natural skill for buildup. If you scream all the time, nobody's going to take you seriously with anything you say.

"Are you hearing yourself?" Carla tilts her head, taking a step towards Marina. "So, you can cheat and it's fine, but when someone else does, you're the moral police?"

"We're supposed to be best friends!" Marina fights back fiercely but unsuccessfully. "You don't fuck your friend's boyfriend!"

"You don't want him, he doesn't want you, and you're together just for show. You're fucking someone else but he can't, because – what? You're jealous even though you don't give a fuck about him?" She takes a step closer; Marina's eyes are filled with tears of rage. "You just can't stand the fact that he'd like someone other than you. You have to be _adored._ "

"This isn't about him!" Marina yells into her face, pushing her roughly. It happens so fast that Carla doesn't register what led to her stumbling. "This is about _you_! We're supposed to be friends! We've known each other since we were _babies!_ You just threw all of that out of the window!"

She's awfully theatrical; it still sends a shap pang of pain through Carla's body.

"Well," she ignores it – is good at it. "Since we don't even tell each other anything anymore, I don't think there was that much to lose." She takes a step back, analyzing Marina's flushed face and burning pupils. "Has anyone seen Lucrecia?"

Upon her classmates' understandable ignorance of her question, she flees the classroom – actually, walks out gracefully, to demonstrate her nonchalance – but once she's out, she doesn't care about the people in the corridors. She needs to get into the bathroom, away from everyone, _fast_. Calm down.

She doesn't do that, not exactly; she locks herself in a stall and cries. Carla doesn't cry a lot, so she's almost surprised when she feels tears wet her cheeks; it's a kind of out-of-body experience.

"Carla?"

Fuck. Now, _this_ she can't deal with. She considers for a second to just stay hidden in the stall, but she's unfortunately not dumb enough to do that.

"This is a girls' bathroom, Yeray," she hisses, storming out. She knows it's obvious she's been crying, but she doesn't – can't – care. She just needs to get Yeray out, she needs to get away from him, she needs to be somewhere else right now. "I don't wanna talk to you. Get the hell out."

" _You_ don't wanna talk to me?" An explosion of repressed anger: something she's never seen in his interpretation. It's not a pretty sight, the vein on his forehead pulsing, but it's somewhat comforting in the sense that he actually understands something and has a natural reaction to it for once. All this time, Carla's been feeling like she's been dating a robot on an extremely annoying _Gutmensch_ setting. "You cheated on me, but _you_ don't wanna talk to me?"

"Get the fuck out of here, Yeray!" Carla grits her teeth as the bathroom door opens and two girls freeze in the frame like gossip-hungry ice statues. "I'll call you later. We're not doing this here."

"Oh, yes, we're doing this here!" Adrenaline pulses in Carlas veins as he shakes her shoulders – not violently, but enough to feel his grip marking into her skin just a little bit. The hormone rush makes it, at least, possible to forget about what her parents will say after they find out that Yeray won't invest in their company because their lovely daughter's been having an affair with _Samuel García Dominguez._ In this scenario, he would be the Montegue son if she was a Capulet.

None of that matters as Yeray yells, millimeters from her face, a few droplets of spit landing on her watered down foundation. "Why the fuck would you do that to me? I gave you everything you asked for, I treated you well, I- I just don't know what the fuck I've done wrong, Carla, for you to have to jump onto the first guy you see at a party! Why wasn't what we had enough for you? Why did you have to do that to me?! I never-"

"Yeray, stop," Carla tries to be firm, but it comes out all squeaky and timid. "Please."

He snaps out of his frenzy instantly; she sees the shock in his eyes as he realizes that he's gripping onto her, and his hands jerk away and grab his school uniform blazer. "Shit. I'm sorry, Carla, I- did I hurt you? I didn't-"

"I'm fine," she shakes her head exhaustedly. She hates that rueful face he has, as if she were a porcellain doll that he just stained with his subtle hint of aggression. "I get it, you're upset. You have a right to be."

"I never wanted to hurt you, Carla," he ignores her completely, still mumbling on. "I- But we can fix this, right? I still love you, I mean, if it didn't mean anything, I can get over-"

Something snaps in Carla's brain, the last string that's been holding it together. "You don't love me, Yeray," she whispers with every ounce of the sincerity witheld for months, years, her whole life. "And I certainly don't love you."

"Carla, I'm-"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry because I'm telling you the truth," she interrupts him. The hurt in his eyes makes her feel bad at some level, for sure, but mostly, as she stares into the deep, black holes of despair, she feels astonishingly empty. "We never should've been together. I'm sorry."

"No, Carla-" he starts, but she's already slipping out the door, ignoring the whispers and a video of the whole altrecation obviously being shared among phones.

All that she feels walking through the hallway is an almost unbearable lightness.

¤

Her emotions that day are awkwardly vivid. The shouting fight with Lucrecia (outside during lunch break, at least _some_ distance away from people) where the brunette stubbornly denies, denies and denies opening her loud mouth until double-sided exhaustion.

Eventually, Carla spits in Lu's face that she's not an idiot and she doesn't care why she had done it (truth, lie), and that Lu can go enjoy her life because Carla doesn't give a shit whether she'll be in New York, Africa or hell.

She stops herself at the last one when she sees Lu's eyes flood with tears, but it's too late now. She feels bad about it, but not enough.

She already has two missed calls from her father. Any available empathy and forgiveness is replaced by stark, thick clogs of fear and anxiety in her throat.

"I didn't tell anyone, Carla, but right now, I wanna congratulate whoever did! Because guess what? You're a fucking bitch!" Lu screams, cheeks flushed, and turns away from Carla, her heels getting stuck in the grass as she makes her way to the school building.

Carla watches her back and briefly entertains the idea that Lu _was_ telling her the truth, but she can't spend much time on it. She has to press her lips to stop herself from crying, think about what she's going to tell her father and determine whether her relationship with Yeray is still fixable.

She already knows the answer: it is.

The certainty makes her head spin with nausea. She could (would? will?) go to Yeray and beg for forgiveness with a mixture of emotional blackmail and manipulative seduction. "I didn't know what I was saying. But you and I aren't ones to give up, no?" Bite her lip, smile, look up onto his face full of badly concealed hope.

She sees the way she'll tilt her head and curl her fingers against his bicep while saying it, and it makes her feel physically sick. She feels as if she'd rather eat a thousand cockroaches than do what she knows she's perfectly capable of executing to success.

Whether she'd rather face the wrath of her father is a different question althogether.

"Carla?"

She twitches when she feels Samuel's hand brush her palm. "What do you want?" she fails to sound unaffected. What her voice really encompasses, is: _I'm about to cry._

"Are you okay?"

"Ye-"

"You're not," he doesn't even let her finish. "But you-"

"Why are you asking me then if you know the answer?" Carla pays him back for the interruption, but she misses the mark on sour and her tone deviates to pure despair.

"I don't know, I'm kind of an expert at stupid questions," Samuel shrugs, and Carla has to bite her gum to prevent her lip from going up. "Anyway. It's gonna be fine. It'll blow over, and Marina really has no right to say anything to you."

So far, Carla has managed to avoid explicit crying in front of people, but then Samuel gives her a hug and she feels a tear falling down her cheek that she can't stop. "Fuck," she whispers. "I'm so stupid. I knew this would happen."

"If it's about Marina, just don't listen to her. She should be the last one to moralize and criticize people for-"

Although Carla doesn't know what Marina's been saying about her since they only had one dreadful morning lesson together, she can imagine. She shudders a little. "I don't care about Marina. My dad is going to kill me because Yeray will pull back, the company will go bankrupt and my mum's gonna go to jail."

"That's not gonna happen," Samuel's voice clinks with overcofident certainty and Carla wants to hit him.

"Yeah. What would you know?"

"Our parents are never gonna go to jail or go bankrupt because of us," Samuel sighs, still holding her close. Carla knows this is only worsening her situation, but she can't pull away. "They're just manipulating us to make their lives easier. But guess what? When the whole Marina-Nano-me thing was going on, they kept blaming everyone and repeating that everything was ruined, but nothing really happened. Sure, the board meetings were a bit tense and their stocks dipped a little, but it was like a month. Now, everything's back to normal."

"I'm not sure it's gonna continue being normal after they find out about this," she objects quietly.

Samuel pulls away and gives her a questioning look. "They already know." Pause to reaffirm that Carla's confusion is genuine – which it is, Carla's crinkling her eywbrows and her brain is racing to put the puzzle pieces together. "Who do you think Marina told first? Her parents. They called mine this morning."

"What?" Carla finally manages to speak as everything falls into place. " _Marina?_ "

"It wasn't the best family breakfast, let me tell you," Samuel continues rambling, lips in a small mixed-feelings grin. "My mum started yelling at me, my dad tried to calm her down, then they knocked over the eggs, soft-boiled yolks were all over the floor and my dad eventually just told me to go to school before my mum sends me to church to confess my sins. He actually seemed pretty amused-"

"How did _Marina_ find out about us?" Carla interrupts him roughly, not appreciating the film-like comediality of his morning meal.

"Apparently, she saw us at the park," Samuel explains casually, and that really tips Carla over.

She bursts out in miserable laughter. "She saw us _talking_ and assumed we were screwing?"

"Well, she was right," Samuel brushes it off mindlessly, but Carla doesn't see it as an anecdote.

"So, you're telling me, she had no proof. If you'd denied it, none of this would've happened." She searches for discrepancy in his eyes, but all she finds is content affirmation. "But you just admitted it."

"Yeah," Samuel confirms easily, and in that moment, Carla really wants to punch him.

" _Yeah?_ " she mocks, finding it extremely hard to keep her hands to herself and not make contact with Samuel's perfectly content (perfect) face. "Just, _yeah?_ You just _said it_ without a fight?"

"What do you want from me, Carla?" Samuel asks, his calm, quiet tone in stark contrast with her second-by-second growing aggravation. "I didn't think it would help anything. With Lu knowing, people would find out sooner or later, so when my parents directly asked me, I just didn't think that it made sense to lie anymore."

"Because you're not with Marina anymore, so it's only gonna fuck up my life? That's why it's not important anymore?" Carla reiterates coldly, finding her solid ground again. Two public hysterical scenes at school were enough for today (with a bonus private one); she doesn't need another one, and she definitely won't be the one to cause it.

Samuel shrugs, unaware of her mental thought process being the only reason why she isn't demonstrating her frustration physically. "No. Because I want to be with you."

It disarms her. She idiotically opens and closes her mouth like a goldfish with an IQ of 7, and can't think of a single thing to respond.

"And I want to stop hiding," Samuel continues, probably set to take full advantage of the time she isn't voicing her irritations. "So that's why I didn't lie. I want everyone to know that we're together."

"Oh, please," Carla snorts, only finding the oldest, most overused line in the back of her brain, but give her a break; she's momentarily startled. "We're not _together_."

"Of course we are," Samuel shakes his head blissfully. "It'll be especially convenient now, since everyone will talk shit about us for a little while. It's better to be in it with someone."

"So," Carla finally manages to form a coherent thought, "You want us to publicly date. You want to be my _boyfriend_."

Maybe it's not the brightest thought-process, but baby steps are necessary in this situation. Samuel's grin widens. "Exactly," he confirms. "And, because of the argument I provided, I think it'd be pretty good for you to accept."

It flashes through Carla's brain briefly that dating idiots seems to be kind of her thing while she kisses her teeth and utters: "I guess so."

"So, it's official, we're stuck together now," Samuel repeats contendedly, and grins at her like she's the most desired toy and he's a five-year-old who's found her under the tree on Christmas.

"Yep," Carla affirms flatly, not showing a hint of emotion. "I guess."

Samuel pulls her closer to himself and kisses the top of her head, and only then, she decides to look up, smile at him and nod.

It's not that she wouldn't be able to hold the smile back, unlike so many of her outbursts that day (she's made enough scenes for a fucking millenium). She's finally snapped back into her perfectly-composed ways, knowing that she'll be able to face both Marina and Lu.

(Fuck, Lu. That's gonna be a huge problem.)

Anyway, the smile that she gives him is hundred-pecentedly a decision; one made merely to benefit Samuel. It's the most valuable reason to smile – in order to cause someone else to do so.

The way his eyes glow, his lip curls and his mouth finds its way onto hers makes her effort successful and _her_ nervous.

"People are coming here for break," she mutters lowly, spotting a few clusters making their way over the bridge.

"Let them stare," Samuel murmurs, resuming the kiss.

So, Carla does.

She's officially dating an idiot now. She's gonna have to start getting used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently, i use my tumblr now: [@loquenomedices](https://loquenomedices.tumblr.com/) you can ask me stuff on there or like, do whatever you want with it lol idk i SUCK at tumblr


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